


First Aid

by Tysolna



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Because this takes place in a morgue / mortuary, Blood and Gore, Fic Meme, Friendship/Love, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Major Character Injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-18
Updated: 2014-05-18
Packaged: 2018-01-25 15:39:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1653800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tysolna/pseuds/Tysolna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Of course he was able to do first aid, he was a goddamn police officer after all. But this was Molly Hooper lying in a pool of blood, Molly whom he'd first really noticed that Christmas party at Baker Street, the one where he realised shortly thereafter that he was competing for her affection against Sherlock bloody Holmes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	First Aid

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Random_Nexus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Random_Nexus/gifts).



> I posted the [Hurt / Comfort Fic Meme](http://ficmemes.tumblr.com/post/84521757243/hurt-comfort-fic-meme) on my tumblr, and Random Nexus asked for Molly Hooper / Greg Lestrade: Injury. This is the result.  
> I'm not sure if it qualifies as h/c and I didn't realise when I set out that it was going to end up as Mollstrade, but I'm kinda happy with this anyway. :)

Of course he was able to do first aid, he was a goddamn police officer after all. But this was Molly Hooper lying in a pool of blood, Molly whom he'd first really noticed that Christmas party at Baker Street, the one where he realised shortly thereafter that he was competing for her affection against Sherlock bloody Holmes. Instead, they became united in their struggle to work with the detective. Then there was Jim from IT who turned out to be a psychopathic mass murderer. Two years later, her fiance Tom still bore more than just a passing resemblance to Sherlock, only without the brains. When Molly broke off the engagement, Greg was sure that for her, sex was not a sufficient exchange for intelligence after all.

 

Greg took a deep breath. The torch he was carrying for Molly would be more of an impediment than help if it distracted him from what he needed to do. He hoped that most of the blood was not Molly's but the corpse's that had fallen across her body. One of the hazards of working in a mortuary, he supposed. Molly was breathing regularly and her pulse was steady. Still, she was unconscious, with a corpse and a side table lying on her body, the tools of her trade scattered around and in a few places sticking inside her. Greg knew better than to pull the scalpels and scissors out of her, since that would only cause her wounds to bleed more. He carefully lifted the side table, wincing in shared pain when he saw the vivid bruising left by the heavy metal. He started to move the corpse, gagging a little as he realised that Molly had been in the middle of a post-mortem when the thief struck and its innards were all over her. At least that explained the amount of blood. He grabbed the sheet the corpse had been lying on and began to clear away the viscera, trying to get a better view of Molly's injuries. He heard a small whimper and realised that Molly was regaining consciousness. Instantly, he let the corpse be - the dead didn't need his attention - and took Molly's head in his hands, belatedly noticing that they were stained with the corpse's fluids.

"Molly?" he asked, "Molly, can you hear me?"

Molly's eyes opened, moving around in confusion until she focused on his face. "Greg?" she whispered, then coughed and winced in pain. "Greg, what are you... Why are you..." She swallowed, and her eyes began to flutter closed again.

"Molly!" Greg said insistently. "Molly, stay with me. Help is on the way. Just stay with me."

A breathy little "Okay" answered him, sounding exactly like he'd asked her for a cup of coffee or to spend the rest of their lives together. Molly opened her eyes again and looked into his, and God help him, she smiled. She smiled at him. He could not help but smile back. "You're going to be all right, Molly", he said, "don't worry, you're going to be alright."

"I know", she half-whispered, half-laughed. "I'm in a bit of a shock, and I think my left leg is a little broken..." She stopped, taking a surprised breath and clenching her teeth as her injuries made themselves felt again. Greg saw her pale and start to shiver, and he was starting to feel at his wit's end. Dammit, he was in a bloody hospital, where was everybody? The woman he loved - and Greg startled at the thought - was lying on the floor injured and in pain, and there was no-one here to help.

 

Just as he was about to start shouting for someone, John burst through the mortuary doors, out of breath but satisfied. "Sherlock's got the bastard", he panted, "red-handed, well, literally. How is Molly?" He dropped to the floor next to Greg and Molly, one hand automatically going to her neck to measure her pulse while his eyes scanned Molly's body for injuries. Greg could see John's relief when he saw that most of the blood wasn't hers. He settled back on his haunches as the mortuary doors banged open to admit a medical team with a stretcher and first-aid equipment. He was both surprised and heartened when he saw Molly's face turn towards him. "Greg?" she quavered and lifted her hand, trying to reach out to him. Greg took her hand and patted it. "I'm here, Molly. I'm here. Not going anywhere." Her smile returned, and his heart skipped a beat.

He held her hand as she was lifted onto the stretcher, and followed the stretcher as it was wheeled towards the mortuary doors. He would follow her smile anywhere.

 

John stopped him just inside the doors. "Wash up first, Greg. You look a mess." Greg looked down at himself and yes, his clothes were caked in blood and other unmentionable bodily fluids, as were his hands and his hair when he'd run them through it in desperation just a few minutes before. John led him gently towards the sink, and Greg did his best to at least wash his hands and face and get the worst of the icky stuff out of his hair.

"About time you two started sorting yourselves out", John said to Greg as he was leaning against the sink with crossed arms. "Sherlock and I have been making bets on when you would. I think I might have won." Greg was horrified to notice that he was actually blushing, but a happy little grin played on his lips regardless. Molly Hooper had smiled at him, and all was well with the world.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks go to random-nexus for the prompt, and Antidiogenes for enabling.


End file.
